Of Creatures and Concussions
by mischeifmanaged3
Summary: This is part 2 in the series "A New Way of Doing Things". You don't have to have read part 1, but it always helps to get the backstory! When Sam and Dean are caught off guard on a hunt leaving Dean with a concussion, years of watching each other's behaviors will come in handy when it's hard to tell who is who.
1. Chapter 1

**AN Hey guys! This story has been in the works for a while, and I finally got around to finishing it up. Hope you like it!**

**'Single quotations' for when Sam and Dean are signing, and _italics_ for when Dean is reading lips.**

Dean looks back every couple of feet, eyes roaming before facing forward again. Sam knows it's to make sure he's still behind him, but he meets his brother's eyes every time even so. Dean looks back ahead, looking at what's left of the Franklin Lot: a single, barely standing, wall looming in front of them.

They'd heard accounts of supernatural-like being showing up at the abandoned lot which was only down the road from the Bunker. Supposedly, local high school kids had seen dead relatives, and the newspaper had made a story of it. Sam and Dean had figured they owed it a look.

They were expecting a spirit–some old kook of the town that had recently passed and was now haunting the kids that made fun of him. Arming themselves with salt and iron, they went to check it out later that night. They weren't expecting it to necessarily be an easy hunt, but they weren't expecting this.

Sam flinches as he hears a shuffling to his right. Touching his brother's shoulder, he looks toward where he heard the sound. Seeing nothing, he meets his brother's eyes and lifts a finger to his lips.

'Hear something? Dean signs. Sam nods, but flinches again as he hears a squelching noise coming from behind the wall. Dean's eyes dart to the wall, and Sam creeps towards it, crowbar held ready.

Suddenly, something heavy slams into him, and he loses his balance. He falls hard backward, the blow knocking the wind out of him and the crowbar out of his hands. Sam hears Dean pull the safety from his gun, and whatever had been pinning Sam down retreats. Sam scrambles back, trying to catch his breath. He grasps for the crowbar and stands, turning in time to see Dean face to face with... Dean.

Sam's eyes flicker from one to the other, and it only takes him a second to realize that what they are hunting isn't a spirit at all. He drops the crowbar in favor of his gun, and tentatively raises it, taking a step back from both Deans.

"Woah, woah, Sam," the nearest Dean says, holding up his arms. Sam doesn't say anything, just watches as the two figures look at each other with the same expression: half disgust, half surprise. Initial surprise aside, Sam's mind finally connects the dots, and he realizes that one of the individuals in front of him is a shifter.

Whichever he is, the shifter looks exactly like Dean, from the beat up leather jacket to the shotgun in his hands. Sam has no idea how to tell which is which, and knows that the shifter no doubt took sign language from his brother's mind along with his appearance.

'Dean?' he signs hesitantly, just to be sure. He holds his gun in one hand, ready to shoot if needed. The Dean on the left holds a fist up to his hair and releases his thumb and pinky: their sign for 'Sammy'. It's weak, and Sam knows it isn't much to go off of, but he's running out of options, and can't think of another way to identify his brother. Then it occurs to him. The shifter could have very well taken sign language and the 'Sammy' name sign from Dean's head, but Sam is fairly certain that the shifter couldn't take or borrow Dean's deafness.

Before he can think through what he's about to do, he pulls the safety off of his gun and fires into the air. The Dean on the right is motionless while the Dean on the left flinches at the bang. Sam immediately knows where to point his gun, and he does so, firing off a first shot. The shifter quickly dodges Sam's shot, darting behind Dean and pulling him back. Sam can only watch as the shifter aims its gun at Dean's head from behind.

Sam freezes and they hold a stalemate. The shifter's eyes -Dean's eyes- glaring into Sam's. The real Dean's eyes dart left and right, trying to catch a glimpse of the shifter behind him that he can't hear.

The shifter makes the first move as he elbows Dean's chin up, and slams him headfirst into the wall. Dean's knees buckle and he falls to the ground. Sam, seeing his opening, takes another shot. But with the same squelching sound as before, the shifter sheds its skin and flees.

Sam almost takes off after it, but one glance at Dean shows him completely motionless on the ground. There is no way Sam would leave his brother helpless trying to shoot down something of which he doesn't even know the appearance.

"Dean," Sam collapses next to his brother, not caring that Dean can't hear him. He gently pats Dean's face, but gets no response. A cut on his forehead starts bleeding, and Sam immediately recalls the number of concussions Dean has already had: too many to be safe.

Frantically placing two fingers to the side of Dean's neck, Sam has to close his eyes and calm down before he can feel Dean's heartbeat. His head is bleeding heavily now, and Sam knows without doubt that his brother has a concussion.

"Hey, come on, Dean," Sam mutters to himself while whipping off first his jacket, then his flannel and pressing it to Dean's head. Dean groans and squeezes his eyes shut. Sam says a silent thank you that Dean is now at least conscious, and coaxes his brother to open his eyes.

"Come on, man" he says, and gently pats Dean's cheek again. Dean's eyes flutter open– glazed and unfocused. It's only a few seconds before he closes them again. Sam grimaces at their lack of communication and changes tactics, quickly finding Dean's hand.

"Ss-amm,"

Sam isn't even sure what he'd heard was his name considering how slurred it was, but he considers it a win. He opens up Dean's palm and begins spelling into it. "D-E-A-N" over and over until Dean's hand closes over his.

"Sam–" Dean mumbles, "W'happnd? Dizzy..." Dean slowly opens his eyes, searching and finally finding Sam's. Sam takes his hand away from Dean's head and, slowly –so that Dean can understand– signs: 'Concussion'. Dean says nothing and stares blankly up at him. He thankfully seems to be holding Sam's gaze though, and is somewhat lucid.

A stray noise causes Sam to look up anxiously, afraid the shifter has come back. They need to get back to the Impala before it does.

'Can you stand?'

Seeming to barely catch the end of Sam's signing, Dean's eyes slide shut, and he swallows.

"Think so," he says. Sam pauses, taking in Dean's still form, then repositions himself so that he can pull Dean up and still support his head. He's only gotten Dean sitting before he hears him groan something unintelligible . From Dean's suddenly slightly green face though, Sam can infer what he's said. He quickly wraps an arm around Dean's chest as Dean leans to the side and begins retching.

Sam waits and tries not to worry. Of the multiple concussions they've each had over the years, they've always made it out on the other side. Then again, Sam can't remember a time when one of them had gotten this bad. His mind goes back and forth, debating whether or not to bring his brother to the nearest hospital.

Once Dean has ceased, he leans back against Sam breathing heavily. Sam slowly counts to five, takes a breath himself, and finds Dean's hand. 'O-K-?"

"Yeah," Dean rasps. His voice sounds wrecked and tired. Sam gives him another minute to catch his breath, then he slowly drapes Dean's arm across his shoulders and grips his hand. He grunts as he works to lift Dean's somewhat dead weight. Dean's head lolls onto Sam's shoulder, and once they are upright, he tips wildly to the side, his free hand gripping the front of Sam's shirt. Sam can only guess that with his eyes closed, the dizziness, and deafness combined, Dean's balance is completely shot. He steadies his feet to keep their balance, and begins walking toward the Impala.

Dean seems to lose strength with each step, and by the time Sam has set him down against the car, he is mumbling under his breath. The fact that Dean has stayed conscious hasn't ebbed his panic though, and Sam quickly grabs a small flashlight from the glove compartment.

Sam kneels down in front of Dean and gently taps his cheek. When Dean's eyes lazily focus on Sam, Sam rubs his fist in a circle on his chest _sorry_, then reaches out and coaxes Dean's eyelid open. Then he shines the flashlight into Dean's eye.

Dean immediately gasps and tenses under his hand. But while Dean's physical reaction is immediate, his pupils don't dilate as fast as Sam would have hoped. When he's done, Dean squeezes his eyes shut, and Sam rests his hand on Dean's shoulder, letting him know he's there.

Sam wishes he could communicate more easily with Dean, and really find out how bad the concussion is. He knows the cut at least requires stitches, but deduces that since Dean is conscious, and neither of his pupils have blown, it won't require a nervous trip to the hospital. He waits impatiently for Dean to open his eyes again.

'List months?' he signs. Dean's eyes slowly shift from Sam's hands to his face, and he opens his mouth, but it's a second before he says anything.

"January... February..."

Whether or not Dean notices, his hands are weakly signing the months along with his voice, and Sam watches, intrigue replacing some of his agitation.

"March..." Dean's voice pauses, but his hands continue, 'April,' he signs. Dean stares perplexed at Sam and doesn't continue.

'April,' Sam signs.

"April?" Dean speaks.

Sam holds Dean's gaze for a second, trying to process what has just happened, until Dean's eyes begin sliding shut, and Sam knows they need to get moving. He gets Dean into the car and drives.


	2. Chapter 2

When Dean wakes, he is confused. He's definitely in his own bed, but when did they get back to the Bunker? Taking stock of himself, he finds that his arms and legs ache, and although he has just been sleeping, he is exhausted. There is an ever present pressure just above his right eye, and his entire head is heavy. To be frank, he feels like crap. He opens his eyes slowly a fraction, and is pleased that no harsh light greets him.

He's correct in his assumption that he is in his own bed in the Bunker. The first thing he sees is the Led Zeppelin record sitting on the bureau. A quick glance to his right shows his jacket slung over the desk chair, and his boots lined up beneath it. To his right, Sam sits, very clearly asleep, in an armchair he must have dragged in from the library. His tall frame is hunched over, and his arm is propped on the armrest supporting his chin. Dean watches for a few minutes, content to wait if it means he doesn't have to move. It must have been some hunt to make him this worn out.

Sam suddenly jerks awake, blinking tiredly as his hand reaches out for the phone next to him which has lit up. Dean deduces that it was an alarm, as Sam simply pushes a button and sets it back down again. Pushing his hair out of his face, he looks toward Dean and jumps again, most likely at the fact that Dean is staring back at him. There is a moment where Sam looks from Dean to the phone and back, but Dean simply shakes his head. No, he can't suddenly hear again.

'You're awake,' Sam signs. He repositions himself in the chair, 'how do you feel?'

'Like shit,' Dean signs weakly. He makes a 'W' with three fingers and taps his chin twice, the sign for water. Sam nods and pushes himself up from the chair. He leaves the room, and Dean closes his eyes. His hand automatically finds its way up to his head, which has started throbbing. He feels a line of neat stitches on his forehead just above hi eye, and tries to remember what happened.

Dean opens his eyes as Sam's hand gently takes his away from his head, and guides it back down to his side. Then Sam frowns and places his palm on Dean's forehead. Dean watches his face grimace in concern.

_Kinda warm,_ Dean reads from Sam's lips.

Dean only nudges Sam's arm away and pushes himself into a sitting position, closing his eyes briefly as the change in position causes his head to spin. He takes a sip from the cup of water that Sam has left on the bedside table, and while it's nice on his dry tongue, it only intensifies the scratchiness of his throat, and brings an upset stomach to his attention. He notices Sam waving for his attention.

'What hurts?'

'Head, throat, stomach,' Dean signs, then he points to the stitches and taps his index finger to his thumb _a little_. Sam nods.

'Nauseous?' Sam asks. Dean shakes his head. Sure, his stomach is a little upset, but he mainly just has the mother of all headaches.

'Can you talk?' Sam signs with a subtle head tilt, eyebrows raising. Dean gives him a look.

'I don't know, can you?' he signs back, rolling his eyes and conveying his sarcasm through his hands as effectively as Sam had communicated his sheepishness. Sam huffs, obviously unamused. 'Try?' he signs.

Dean knows that Sam is only checking for signs of a severe concussion, inability of speech being a major symptom. But Dean barely trusts his voice anymore when he hasn't been concussed. He's allowed at least a little self consciousness.

Dean sighs and lets out a breath. He moves his tongue around and swallows. "Bitch," he says, then clears his throat. Sam smiles, and Dean reads _jerk_ from his lips.

'Enough with the interrogation, I'm fine. What happened?' Dean signs, feeling his energy decrease, and wanting ton know why he feels like shit before he falls asleep again. Sam runs a hand through his hair and collapses back down into the chair.

'Shifter hunt last night,' he begins. Immediately, thoughts begin streaming into Dean's mind. They'd been after what they thought was a spirit, but had actually been a shifter. 'Looked like you, took us –me– by surprise, rammed your head against a wall–' Sam pauses. Dean glances at the clock on the nightstand. 3:37 am. He turns back to Sam.

'I've been out all day?' he signs. He would have thought all the sleep would have done something. He only just woke up, yet feels completely drained. Sam only shakes his head and checks his watch.

'I haven't let you sleep longer than an hour. You haven't really been coherent until now, haven't been able to keep anything down. I'm still not convinced I should't take you to the hospital, especially with that fever.'

Dean is shocked. Sure he feels like crap, but he doesn't remember anything after the abandoned house. Not the car ride back, not waking up every hour, certainly not throwing up. He looks incredulously at Sam.

'List months?' Sam signs. Dean stares at him for a second, but then raises his hands, and opens his mouth. He both speaks and signs all twelve months, not missing a beat or stumbling. The relief that flashes over Sam's face tells Dean just how worried Sam had been. Dean takes his index finger and drags it from his ear to his mouth, the sign for deaf.

'Deaf and concussion don't mix,' he signs. Definitely losing one of his senses was making the entire process harder. Sam nods. He gestures to the laptop that was sitting on the table near his phone.

'Did some to find out how worried I should be. Didn't really find anything because we don't know the cause of your deafness, but it's still a nasty concussion.'

Dean nods, not surprised that there isn't a more concrete answer. There never really ever was in their line of work. "Hey, you– uh– go get some sleep in a real bed," he says, catching the tail end of Sam's yawn. Sam shakes his head, beginning to sign, but Dean cuts him off. "You're done, Sammy, I'm good. You did good," he says, then holds up his phone he'd seen on the bedside table. "I know how to reach you if I need you."

Sam hesitates for a second, then regretfully pushes himself out of the chair. 'I'm coming back to check on you in two hours,' he signs. Dean rolls his eyes and settles back as his brother leaves him alone in the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean rolls over and glances at the clock.10:00am. Sam would have usually been in to check on him by now. Of course, Dean can function alone again, he was only slightly dizzy at times, but his fever is gone, and the pounding in his head has decreased to a mild ache. This wouldn't have stopped Sam though.

He pushes himself up and stretches. He's sore and stiff from laying in bed for four days, not to mention weak from his fever. It feels good to move around, and a shower is definitely in order. Deciding to take advantage of Sam's absence though, he makes his way to the kitchen to finally have the cup of coffee he's been denied of. He is surprised when he walks in though to see Sam in the kitchen. What seems weirder is the fact that Sam seems nonchalant about the fact that Dean is out of bed.

_Hey, _Sam says when he sees Dean.

"Hey," he says, "where have you been?"

_Went to kill the shifter. _Dean narrows his eyes as he reads Sam's lips. Sam almost always signs if he can. Speaking a whole sentence like that seems wrong. He is really more surprised that Sam had gone after the shifter alone without even telling him.

"Great," he responds, trying not to make anything of it yet. "How'd it go?"

Sam dries his hands on the dish towel. _Pretty good__–_

Dean can't read anymore from Sam's lips though because Sam had turned away from him mid-sentence, and that's when Dean knows that this is not his brother. Pretty stupid shifter if it had forgotten that Dean was deaf.

He doesn't have a weapon on him, but they are in the kitchen. A knife wouldn't be hard to get; he begins inching toward the counter. His hand is outstretched toward the knife block, reaching for the one silver knife they keep there for emergencies, when the shifter turns. For a split second, the face that catches him is fully his brother's and Dean pauses, but Sam's face contorts into an expression that Sam never makes. His brother's eyes, nose, and mouth, but a face completely foreign to Dean.

In one quick move, Dean has the silver knife gripped in his hand and is advancing toward the shifter. Without a second thought, he slashes the knife. The shifter lifts an arm in defense, and instead of the knife sinking into his chest, Dean slices the knife down its arm. The shifter rears its head back, its mouth open in a scream Dean cannot hear, and before he can process what has happened, it whips its arm at Dean, knocking the knife from his hand and splattering him with blood.

With his weapon gone, Dean is now defenseless, and just barely dodges the shifter's punch aimed at his face. He grasps the edge of the counter as the sudden movement makes his head spin, still not completely steady on his feet after the concussion. The shifter advances on him and he quickly backs away, putting one of the kitchen chairs in between them.

The shifter raises its hands to sign. 'Won't fight your little brother?' Dean glares and hurls the chair at it. The shifter barely misses getting hit, but Dean is quicker this time and comes forward, thrusting his fist at the face he knows only too well.

They go back and forth for a while. Dean wonders if the shifter, having Sam's memories at his disposal, is able to predict his moves. He tries not to let it distract him though, and fights just as hard back. Finally remember what always gets Sam in the end, he uses his brother's height against him, and is able to pin the shifter down. He reaches out and grabs the fallen silver knife. It is then that he makes his mistake and looks into the shifter's face. Sam's face.

He is mouthing _Dean_ or _please._ Dean isn't sure, he's too panicked to decipher it any clearer. It doesn't matter though, all he sees is his brother pleading for him to stop.

It's down, weapon gone, its last chance shot. All Dean has to do is make the final stab with the silver knife. Only one more second, and the hunt will be over. But he can't do it.

"Damnit."

Being this close, staring at those too familiar eyes, seeing his own name on his brother's mouth over and over... he just can't do it. He knows it isn't actually Sam, he knows the real Sam is out there somewhere counting on him...

Making up his mind, he drops the knife in favor of his fist. He makes sure the shifter is really unconscious before handcuffing him to the leg of the table, and quickly backs out of the room.

"Sam!"

It's a reflex. A memory of what he would have done. Of course he knows he isn't going to be able to hear a response, but that doesn't matter. Yelling for Sam gives him something to do. It convinces him that he is one step closer to finding his brother. He leaves the shifter alone in the kitchen and begins scouring the halls, one hand dragging along the wall at all times.

"Sam, come one, give me something," he mutters.

After checking the entire Bunker twice, making sure to look in the secret dungeon as well, Dean knows there is very little chance that Sam is there. The shifter must have taken him from the Bunker. Dean hurries to the garage, trying not to let the fact that Sam can be anywhere make him any more anxious than he already is.

Dean is surprisingly calm as he pulls the handle on the door the Impala and slides into the driver's seat. He doesn't want to leave the shifter alone in the Bunker, but he has no other choice. Sam has to be somewhere between the Bunker and the lot. Dean just has to find him.

He puts the keys in the ignition and is about the start the car, when it shakes.

Normally, he wouldn't have noticed it, but since he's lost his hearing, his other senses have increased and he definitely feels the car shake beneath him slightly. He looks in the backseat, but all that is there is the cooler and blanket they keep for emergencies. Glancing out the windows, he sees no one on the outside, but he can definitely still feel it.

He gets out of the car and pulls his knife from his boot. He stands still, as if listening. It is times like these that he really feels the disadvantages of not being able to hear. Now that he isn't as focused on leaving, he can see the car rocking, and that it is coming from the trunk. He treads carefully closer the the car and fits the key into the trunk's lock. The vibration stops immediately. Holding his knife ready, he opens the lid and steps back.

It is Sam. The real Sam. It has to be, because Dean had handcuffed shifter Sam in the Bunker. Sam–the real Sam– is crammed into the trunk, his hands tied in front of him. There is barely any room for anything else, and Dean is surprised his brother fits at all.

Suddenly he is leaning over his brother, fingers fumbling with the zip-ties. There is blood on Sam's wrists from where the plastic had bit into his skin, and Dean's fingers slip. Sam jerks back away from Dean, and Dean stops in confusion. He looks at his brother's face and sees that Sam's expression is not one of relief as he'd expected, but one of fright.

With a jolt, Dean realizes that the shifter must have disguised itself as Dean to be convincing when he kidnapped Sam. He also remembers that he is splattered with an unsettling amount of the shifter's blood.

"It's just me, Sammy," he says. Sam's eyes flash from Dean's pocket where he'd stashed the knife, and then back to Dean's face. Dean can tell Sam doesn't believe him. "Okay," Dean says, taking the knife from his pocket. He holds his arm out and grazes the knife's edge against his skin. When the silver against his skin causes no reaction, he looks back at Sam and sees him nodding. Dean quickly breaks the zip-tie binding Sam's hands with the knife, and helps his brother out of the trunk. Sam rubs his wrists for a second before signing.

'Where's the shifter?' he asks.

"Kitchen," Dean says, "I couldn't–" he pauses, unable to find the words to explain how he couldn't kill his brother. "It's not dead."

Sam nods, seeming to understand immediately, but turns back toward the trunk of the Impala. Opening the false bottom, he retrieves his own silver knife and nods his head back toward the Bunker.

'We'll do it together,' he signs. Dean smiles.

And with that, they head back inside to finish the hunt they'd started.

END


End file.
